


sent it off a cliff just for the spark

by CatchAsCatchCan



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: AU - Not Hockey Players, M/M, content warning for discussions of multivariable calculus, idiots to lovers, inspired by that one craiglist missed connections post, platonic use of the word babe and romantic use of the word bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 01:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20055907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatchAsCatchCan/pseuds/CatchAsCatchCan
Summary: “Tell me again how seeing a guy get hit by a car makes him your soulmate.”Or: Nolan gets hit by a car. TK falls in love.





	sent it off a cliff just for the spark

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t read this if you’re mentioned, etc etc etc. 
> 
> I wrote this while eating a cheese sandwich with a spoon, so like TK and I are the same probably. Based off that one Craigslist Missed Connections post, because I saw it and immediately wrote this. Also inspired by that one image of Nopat wearing sunglasses, short shorts, and rollerblades because as a lesbian, that look was very aspirational. They’re very stupid and I love them more than words can express.
> 
> Title from the boys are too refined by the hush sound
> 
> Totally unbetaed, any mistakes are mine. Also I know basically nothing about Lawson Crouse, so my bad if he’s not as rude as I made him.

TK sees a dude get hit by a car and immediately falls in love. The guy is like, fine, so TK figures the love thing is okay too. 

TK is coming out of the library when he sees him. It’s almost midnight and he hasn’t slept in about thirty hours, partly because he really had to finish writing a paper and partly because he really had to put off writing a paper. He’s about to collapse, but it’s whatever. 

He sees a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and turns to see a guy rollerblading along the opposite sidewalk. The guy has on tiny sunglasses, and normally tiny sunglasses in the dark is kind of an asshole look, but coupled with the rollerblades and short-shorts, TK is almost impressed. 

TK watches, slightly entranced, as he reaches the intersection. Right before rollerblade guy crosses the street, he’s illuminated by a streetlight for the first time, and TK has a split second to think oh he’s kinda cute, before he slides directly into oncoming traffic.

* * *

“You don’t understand, it was like some Greek mythology shit,” TK tells Crouser the next morning, in between bites of low-quality cafeteria eggs. 

“Name one Greek myth,” comes the response, muffled by a yawn and a coffee larger than Crouser’s head.

“Icarus, bro, but that’s not the point.”

“If you could clarify the point, I’d appreciate it,” Crouser responds, snippily. 

TK doesn’t acknowledge the tone. He gets it, powdered eggs and half cooked sausage don’t exactly inspire a sunny morning mood. Normally TK would be right there with him, but not today because—

“Tell me again how seeing a guy get hit by a car makes him your soulmate.”

TK is almost offended on behalf of Rollerblade Guy. “He didn’t _just_ get hit by a car, Law, have some respect.”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry. He got hit by a car, yelled, ‘I’m invincible, you can’t kill me,’ and survived.” 

TK nods dreamily, because that is what happened, even if it wasn’t as great in description as it was seeing it live. “And he was on rollerblades.”

Crouser sighs, and motions with his coffee towards all of TK, somehow without spilling a drop. “You fell asleep, sober, in the hallway of the dorm two nights ago. You’re made for each other.”

* * *

The thing is, TK kind of can’t stop thinking about it, about what Crouser said. TK knows he’s kind of a mess, but what dumbass college kid isn’t. He likes to think he at least gets points for being self-aware, even if he’s not self-aware enough to do anything about it. He’s got, like, homework and shit to do first. 

And so maybe, possibly, TK has spent several hours of the past week thinking about Rollerblade Guy, who was objectively cute and had a nice voice, even if TK only heard it yelling at the driver who just hit him. And he has to respect getting hit by a car and bouncing back up like it was nothing, because that was cool as fuck. It’s just a meaningless crush. 

But it is fun to think about.

* * *

TK isn’t drunk when he does it, but he is high enough that it seems like a great idea. 

The whole school has a shared Facebook group, even though mostly all that gets posted in it is, like, group meetings and sports schedules and the occasional reminder to please not drink in the student lounge. TK made an account the second week of school because it seemed like the responsible thing to do, but he hasn’t used it in roughly several years, because, like, for what. 

TK only remembers the password out of sheer luck, which is nice because he definitely doesn’t have the attention span to make a whole new account. He has seven friends and a profile picture with a fish. He gets to work.

* * *

He wakes up on the floor to Crouser laughing at him hysterically. 

He knuckles the sleep out of his eyes and blinks up at him. Law makes eye contact and doubles over, wheezing. He sounds like he might be in pain, but TK has no idea what’s so funny. 

“Dude,” Crouser gasps, between giggles, “What the fuck were you thinking?” 

And then it comes back to him in a rush. TK lunges across the floor to open his laptop. Facebook cheerily greets him with over a hundred notifications and glaring up at him is a post on the college’s group page. 

Law snatches the computer out of his hands and begins reading aloud, pausing every few words when his voice gets too choked up with laughter to continue.

“‘Looking for boy that got hit by a car in front of the library last week,’” Crouser intones dramatically, voice breaking on the last word. “Teeks. A missed connection? Really?”

TK contemplates burying his head in his hands and grabbing for the computer, then settles for doing one with each hand. It’s a feat of multitasking. “Shut up shut up shut up,” he chants into his palm. 

Law cackles and does not shut up. “‘I was outside the library. You were crossing the street and got hit by a car. You bounced off the hood and landed on your feet yelling something about being indestructible.’

“TK. Babe. What the fuck.”

TK flops back on the floor, silently pleading with whatever force may be out there to drop the roof of this dorm on his head before Crouser keeps reading. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Oh, it was a great idea,” Law snickers, and scrolls down. “Wait, we’re about to get to my favorite part.”

“Can’t you have a little mercy for a fallen friend?”

Law shushes him. “This is your masterpiece dude.” He continues in a falsetto, “‘Once, I almost got trapped in a dumpster because I was going after a pizza that I thought I wanted to take home with me. I’ve also recently slept on my dorm hallway floor.’”

And, okay, that dumpster story is true, but he never really wanted anyone other than Crouser to know about it. Also— “Hey, I don’t sound like that!”

Crouser soldiers on, raising his voice to talk over TK. “‘I think we’d be a good fit for each other.’” He raises his arms for a dramatic flourish. “‘Move in with me? Let’s get married?’” 

TK slams his head into the floor. Maybe if he concusses himself, he can escape this conversation. 

“Are you really that desperate for a new roommate dude? Because I can get myself run over by a car too if that’s what you need.”

TK screams without opening his mouth.

* * *

For completely humiliating himself, it’s surprisingly alright. The post was only up for a few hours, and screenshots are definitely circulating, but it’s college and he just has to wait for Provy to embarrass himself at a frat party before the whole thing mostly fades into the background. 

Sure, he gets mercilessly chirped by his boys, and Law has taken to fake proposing to him every other day, but he would do the same in their shoes. It’s like, reciprocity, or whatever. 

It’s almost a full two weeks after the post when he faces the first real consequence for his actions. 

He’s back in the library again, which is proof that he should really start avoiding the place, and has his head firmly buried in a meaningless textbook when he hears Law sit down heavily across from him. 

TK grunts in acknowledgement and doesn’t look up. He has to finish this problem set by tomorrow and so what if he had two weeks to work on it, don’t judge. He was preoccupied. 

“Heard we’re getting married.”

TK jerks upright. Rollerblade Dude is sitting there, elbows on the table. He’s wearing a grey hoodie and his hair is curling out from under a black toque. The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying to fight off a grin. 

TK’s brain short circuits and all he manages is a stuttered, “Uh—,” before the guy cracks up. 

He’s bent over double, forehead nearly touching the table, but he straightens up when the girl next to them glares in their direction. 

“Sorry, dude,” he says. He does not look at all sorry. 

His voice is soft and gravelly, nothing like what it sounded like that night in the street. TK kind of wants to listen to it forever. It’s no big deal. 

TK feels his face flame up.

The guy must catch the doubtful look in TK’s eyes, because he lowers his voice even more and says, “No, really bro. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Everything is silent for a minute. He runs his hand up through the back of his hair, nearly dislodging the hat. TK really wants to touch it, even if it looks kind of greasy. He still doesn’t know the guy’s name.

“I’m Travis,” he says, because he can’t really embarrass himself any more than he already has. Without thinking, he sticks his hand out across the table and he instantly wishes he hadn’t because now this suddenly feels like the world’s worst business meeting. 

His arm hangs there and the guy grins. “Nolan,” he says, and reaches to shake TK’s hand.

* * *

TK leaves the library with Nolan’s number and none of his work done. He books it back to his dorm in record time, slams the door, and launches himself onto his bed with a screech. He buries his head in his balled-up comforter and settles in to freak the fuck out. 

“You good, buddy?” Law calls from across the room. TK screams into his pillow. TK is not good. TK is losing his mind. 

Crouser throws a pen at the back of his head. It connects with surprising accuracy.

* * *

After a good fifteen minutes spent regretting every decision that got him to this point, TK’s phone buzzes next to his head. 

_Nolan: it was nice to meet you_

TK stares at it. He’s suddenly forgotten how to speak English. His phone vibrates again in his hand and he squeaks. He thinks he can hear Crouser laughing at him across the room, but all his focus has narrowed to a single point. 

_Nolan: are you always that embarrassing bro_

TK stares. This guy was, like, wearing sunglasses at night and TK has personally seen him get hit by a car. Nolan has no place to judge. 

_Travis: you literally got run over by a car_

_Nolan: you liked it though_

And TK has nothing to say to that.

* * *

So, TK and Nolan text now, sometimes. TK starts most conversations, because once he gets over the initial awkwardness, he discovers that Nolan is, like, super fun. 

That bit shouldn’t be as surprising as it is, because again rollerblades, car, etc. But it turns out that Nolan is acerbic and kind of rude and has strong opinions about things like Call of Duty and which kind of Pepsi is the best and whether or not Sidney Crosby sucks. 

And maybe TK starts working more often at that same library table, so that Nolan can find him if he wants to. It’s no big deal, plus it comes with a nice bonus when it turns out that consistently working at the same place at the same time every day does wonders for his productivity.

It pays off after four days, when Nolan sits down across from him again with an armful of textbooks. He’s wearing the hoodie again, but this time his hair is pulled back away from his face. TK is thoroughly embarrassed by how much that does it for him. 

Nolan is perched there kind of gingerly, and his eyes shift from side to side without really settling on TK’s face. TK steels himself and pulls Nolan’s stack of books towards him, hoping to show that he wants him there without having to put that into words. 

They watch in slow motion as the stack of textbooks begins to topple over, and both lurch forward at the same time to prop it up. Nolan’s hand ends up pressing into TK’s wrist, and TK jolts. The books clatter to the table and the sounds echoes across the entire library. Someone whisper-shouts at them to shut the fuck up, but TK is too busy being lazar-focused on Nolan’s hand wrapped around his wrist to really acknowledge it. 

So, now they study together sometimes too.

* * *

Eventually, texting and studying turns into actually hanging out. TK memorizes Nolan’s stupidly complicated Starbucks order, fights with him about his country music opinions, and learns that he used to play hockey but quit after a shoulder injury that still hurts when it gets too cold out. In return, Nolan puts up with TK’s constant chatter and total inability to navigate a car. 

Nolan now has several shirts in TK’s dirty laundry hamper, and half of TK’s notes are probably somewhere on Nolan’s floor. TK has Nolan’s mom’s phone number. Nolan makes him smile, and not even Crouser chirps him for it. 

It’s possible that Travis is a little stupid about him.

* * *

It’s midway through the semester and Travis is cramming in the library when Nolan unceremoniously drops into his chair and announces, “Bro, calc three fucking sucks.”

TK took it his freshman year and remembers exactly none of it. It did fucking suck, but instead of commiserating like a normal person, what comes out of his mouth instead is, “I took that class freshman year and I remember most of it. Maybe I can help you, bro?” 

Nolan’s eyes light up. TK is a fucking idiot.

* * *

Usually, TK and Nolan leave the library together. They have an unstated tradition of going back to Nolan’s room to play Call of Duty until their brains leak out their ears, but this time TK begs off with a fake paper and says he’ll be here all night. 

TK is going to teach himself multivariable calculus in one night. In his defense, he’s done worse things to procrastinate, like the time he hid all of Crouser’s left shoes. This is just helping a bro out. 

After fifteen minutes of increasingly frantic dives into the depths of his Google Drive, TK discovers he kept none of his notes. He has none of his tests, books, cheat sheets, or practice problems. He looks up a video on solving multivariable equations and gets confused in the first minute. What the fuck is a dot product? 

If he hears the word matrix again, he’s going to cry. 

But Nolan asked for his help, and TK can’t let him down just because he got caught up in how nice his hair looked that he forgot how to think rationally. TK’s life motto is and always will be fake it ‘til you make it, so he opens up another series of videos and settles in to watch an old man drone on about vector properties.

* * *

He feels his eyes getting heavy midway through “Calc III For Dummies: Matrix Multiplication,” and when he feels someone tap his shoulder, he jolts upright to the sounds of some dude groaning on about LaGrange multipliers, whatever the fuck that is. 

He wrenches the earbuds out of his ears and slams the computer lid down when he sees who’s standing behind him. 

Nolan is holding the largest coffee TK has ever seen, and he’s staring with a small frown at where TK’s screen used to be. 

“I thought you said you had a paper to write?” he asks, quietly, even though there’s no one left on this floor of the library. 

TK has never been a good liar, so he keeps his mouth firmly shut. Nolan reaches past him to push up the screen, where YouTube is currently frozen on the stupidest looking fraction TK has ever seen. His arm is warm against TK’s shoulder. 

“‘Calc III: Partial First Derivatives,’” he reads, voice low in TK’s ear. TK tries his best to disguise a shiver, but he doesn’t really think he succeeds.

“Just doing some catching up,” TK croaks, firmly avoiding turning to look at Nolan, who is still pressed along his back. 

“Teeks,” Nolan starts, a grin in his voice, “Travis. You don’t know shit about calculus, do you.”

It’s not a question, but TK doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “I could know things about calculus. I have layers!”

Nolan snorts. It’s not flattering. 

TK zeroes in on the giant coffee Nolan is still holding. When in doubt, deflect. “Hold up, why are you even here? You said you were going home like an hour ago.” 

Nolan colors brilliantly, his cheeks flushing red. He shoves the coffee toward TK, and some of it sloshes over the edge and onto his fingers. He hisses and sticks them in his mouth. TK tries not to stare.

Around the fingers still in his mouth, he bites out, “You said you were going to be up late. I—” and then he breaks off, glaring mulishly. 

The library is silent. TK puts his laptop in his bag and grabs the coffee. Nolan pulls his fingers out of his mouth and wipes them on his pants. TK graciously decides not to judge. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he says instead.

* * *

They take the elevator down from the third floor, because they’re lazy. They both stay silent on the way out of the library, and TK drums his fingers on the coffee cup, contemplating. 

They step outside and the cold air hits. TK turns and asks, “Wait, did you come all the way back to give me coffee?” just as Nolan stops walking and says, “Were you trying to learn calculus for me?” 

TK clams up and Nolan freezes. The only sound is the breeze in the trees and the occasional car passing by. They’re both standing just standing there, outside of the library, in the dark, after midnight. Again. 

TK opens his mouth to try to bullshit his way out of this one, because if he has one skill it’s talking until someone forgets their original point. Nolan gets there first though. Eyes fixed firmly on the ground, he says, faster than TK has ever heard him speak, “I got hit by that car because I was looking at you.”

TK drops the coffee. 

His shoes are almost definitely ruined. 

“What.” 

“I—I got distracted,” Nolan says, still not looking at him. 

“You were on rollerblades! In the dark, wearing sunglasses! How did you even see me?” TK asks, semi-hysterically. 

Nolan crosses his arms, holding on to himself. He’s still not looking at TK. Carefully, TK steps towards him. His shoes squelch and he hopes Nolan can’t hear it. TK slides his hands down Nolan’s arms, pulling them towards him. He’s basically holding Nolan’s hands, but if he thinks too much about that he’ll black out, so he focuses on the more pressing issue. 

Slowly, Nolan meets his eyes. “I saw you around campus before, thought you were, like, cute. So, when I saw you outside the library, I got distracted.” It’s more words than TK has ever heard him say outside of an argument. 

“And then you got hit by a car?”

“And then I got hit by a car,” Nolan confirms. 

TK is speaking so quietly he can barely hear himself. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Nolan grimaces. “Didn’t want to embarrass myself.” 

TK pulls back. “I literally asked you to marry me! On Facebook! In front of the whole school!” 

Nolan opens his mouth to protest, but he doesn’t get the chance, because TK kisses him. Nolan winds his arms around TK's neck and it’s kind of perfect, even if he does have coffee in his shoes.

**Author's Note:**

> This is this first fic I’ve written since I was literally in middle school, and its hidden in a folder of tax forms on my computer. I have literally no idea how to use ao3 formatting so please bear with me. Hope y’all like it!
> 
> You can also now find me on twitter [@catchascatchcn](https://www.twitter.com/catchascatchcn)!


End file.
